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meownotgood · 6 months ago

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let us live, if we must die. / chapter two: of blood and fire

You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince.

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pairing: prince!aki x witch!reader

word count: 6.6k

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, reader is fem, tending to aki's wounds, but things don't all go to plan. warning: a few small mentions of blood / wounds / a knife

notes: we're in aki's perspective this time! reader & aki's relationship is off to an interesting start... hope you enjoy this one hehe. next chapter will be a bit longer and include multiple scenes!

masterlist read on ao3 join the taglist here!

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Aki awakes to the sound of a crackling fireplace.

He blinks, his eyes still tired. His blurry vision slowly begins to come back into focus. When it does, he is met with an unfamiliar ceiling in a room he doesn't recognize. Candlelit shadows dance above him. The cottage, right. Relief washes over his mind, his body, and his weary muscles, the sensation as strong and comforting as the warmth from the nearby fire. The forest was cold. Rain soaked into his bare skin, until every droplet felt like ice in his bones, bitterness in his boiling blood. But now, he is warm. Safe, at last.

He remembers first spotting the cottage in between dense trees and pouring rain. Every step grew harder and harder to take, his legs becoming heavier by the second. By the time he reached the doorstep, he knew he was at the end of his rope. Now, his fate was no longer in his own hands. He recalls knocking on the door, seeing it open, falling, fading —

Yeah, he needs to apologize for that. He has a lot he probably needs to say to you, actually.

Aki listens to the fire flicker and fizzle, while he continues to idly watch the ceiling's pirouetting shadows through heavy eyelids. He's alive. His heart pounds forcefully against the caged walls of his chest, as if reminding him, taunting him. Attempting to recall the moments before he lost consciousness, his thoughts can't help but wander back to you.

You were moonlit, the serene glow of the stars shining in your eyes and your panicked expression. Aki felt his throat go dry. His hands shook. His breath took on a tender hitch, despite the pain still splintering through him. He plays that moment over and over again in his mind, and Gods, he knows he's already messed everything up. He probably scared you. No, he definitely startled you. Arriving at a stranger's door all blood-soaked and weary, before proceeding to pass out on them doesn't make for the most positive of introductions.

Of course, all things considered, getting off on the wrong foot with you was perhaps inevitable. He can only wonder how long it might take now, to try and get the two of you on the right foot.

With a steady breath in, and a moment to prepare, Aki pushes himself up. Instantly, he winces, grunting in pain. The still-fresh wound on his side sends pain tearing through him like sharp, icy daggers. A heavy ache settles over his spine, then his limbs.

He glances around; you have him resting next to a stone fireplace, on what seems to be a makeshift wooden cot. His shirt is laid out, drying by the fire. You've washed the blood from it, for the most part. When he examines himself, he sees his torso wrapped in cloth, torn and tied together to make bandages, fabric closest to his side stained a dull, dried red.

"Don't move."

The sound of your voice gets him to glance in your direction. With your back turned towards him, you're standing at the kitchen counter. You are preparing something, your knife chopping smoothly, echoing a firm noise each time it hits the cutting board. Aki huffs the start of a rebuttal, but you don't let him get very far.

"I'm fine, I-"

"You risk tearing your stitches if you move," You scold, tone stern, your movements halting. Aki feels the anticipation heighten in his veins, the room briefly going silent, save for a persistent echo of rain hitting the roof.

You glance over your shoulder to look at him, and proceed to shoot him a particularly harsh glare. "So please, lay back down."

The intricate features of your face are just as captivating as Aki remembers.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off you, he leans back, the cot creaking once he's settled. You breathe an annoyed-sounding sigh before returning to your work. A drizzle hums outside steadily, softer than the earlier downpour. The storm is passing, thankfully.

Your stone pestle knocks and grinds against a wooden bowl. The fireplace crackles, calm flames flooding Aki's body with a comforting sense of heat. It casts him in gentle light, lambent sparks reflecting off his eyes, and in the smooth metal of his earrings.

Once you've finished grinding the herbs, you unscrew the cap of a nearby flask, and you pour a generous amount of water into the bowl. Each scrap of vegetation dissolves almost immediately, leaving behind a thin mixture, colored in shades of green and muddy purple. You have the bowl held in both hands when you finally walk over to him, careful not to let anything spill.

You kneel down beside the cot, eyeing him nervously. Your lips press together to form a taut line. Awkward seconds pass in droves, before you manage to say something at last.

"Tilt your head up," You're instructing. You have the cadence of someone who isn't used to their own voice leaving their lungs, Aki notes. When he does so, propping himself up a bit, your free hand hesitantly shifts to rest underneath his head for support. He swears he can feel your uneasiness.

"Drink this."

You've let his hair down, and the long, messy strands brush your palm; they lightly tickle the back of his neck, and fall to frame his pointed ears. Orange light caresses him, flickering over old scars and freckled skin. Aki breathes deeply, his gaze locked with yours. You're so close. Close enough to make him feel as though the stars themselves are burning in his heart.

There's fear in your eyes. The sort of fear he's come to recognize on others, countless times before. The same fear that would've taken over him when he was much younger. But there's gentleness, as well. A genuine concern, as you watch the choppy rise and fall of his chest from the corner of your eye.

He owes you everything, and more than that, still. If it wasn't for you, he surely would have died out there. When he was running, rain pelting his back while he sprinted as fast as his weak legs could take him — fruitless, for the devils were already following his blood trail — he thought he was definitely going to.

What a terribly awful, terribly stupid death that would be. Aki always imagined his end would come at the clawed hands of a devil. It was the fate he accepted, when he swore to hunt them. With no mercy, they will end him someday, just as they've taken his family, and each of his peers. Yet, to die there, from such a foolish mistake, to perish because he merely fumbled with his weapon when he should have been focused — In whatever afterlife he stumbled into, kind or cruel, he would never have forgiven himself.

His mind has been wandering elsewhere quite often, as of late. From now on, he needs his focus maintained if he wants to survive. Between his troubles, his training, and his responsibilities, it's like his brain hasn't rested in weeks. And then there's this damned forest, the devils, and you. Something tells him he won't be finding his composure any time soon.

Aki's nose wrinkles up on instinct when you bring the bowl to his lips. You tut, shaking your head.

"It smells bad, I know," You're scoffing, "But it isn't going to taste any better. Drink it all, it'll help."

With his eyes screwed shut, you begin to tilt the bowl back, and he forces himself to down the entirety of the mixture. It sticks to his throat, thick and unbelievably bitter; it makes him cough once he tries to breathe. He swallows dryly, allowing the taste to gradually dull. Satisfied, you rise to your feet. Empty bowl in hand, you're finally heading back towards the kitchen.

"Demons got you good," You hum, sweeping stray scraps of herbs from the counter into your palm. Glass jars line the back edge of the counter, and you pop the lid on one, carefully brushing the corresponding traces inside. "You'll heal though, in time. Shouldn't be left with another scar, unless you keep messing with your stitches."

Aki leans back into the cot, his messy hair fanned out around him. He runs his fingers over his torso, feeling the outline of the ragged bandages. They're wrapped tightly to protect the wound on his side. The gash underneath stings slightly when he touches it, still.

"Thank you," He murmurs, turning his head to glance at you. His voice is low, breathy. Honest. "If you hadn't brought me in, I think I would have bled to death."

"You definitely would have," You grumble under your breath, a bit louder than intended. You exhale a small tsk, your nails rhythmically tapping against the side of the glass jar. "You're heavy, very heavy. I had to practically drag you inside. And you talk in your sleep, too."

Aki snorts, breathing something of a dry laugh. He props his head up, resting it on top of his arm. "What was I talking about?"

Briefly, you hesitate. "How am I supposed to know? It was gibberish." You set the jar back into place, and carefully straighten the entire assortment. "At least I knew you were sleeping and not- you know. Dead."

At last, you're starting to sound sure of yourself. He hardly minds your harshness; he's the one who nearly barged in, he certainly deserves to be met with a hint of vitriol. Aki finds your sudden ray of confidence to be pleasant, in fact, like standing in the shimmer of a rising sun. Perhaps he can make amends with you after all.

"I was lucky," Aki starts. "I wasn't expecting to find anyone all the way out here. You saved my life. I don't plan on forgetting that."

Busying yourself with cleaning your kitchen knife, you pour water onto a towel before using it to hastily polish the blade.

"Where are you from?" You ask him, changing the subject entirely. "The city?"

He shrugs. "I suppose you could call it that."

"The city's awfully far from here."

"It is," Aki responds calmly. He distracts himself by watching you, his gaze flickering over your form: bathed in shadow, and touched by the slightest lamp glow. Your back is facing him again, and your shoulders are tense, wound up. Your hooded cloak has holes here and there, with the bottom edge of your cape distinctly ragged from tear marks. The deep blue color of the cape's fabric matches the makeshift bandages around his torso.

"But you're from there," He continues, eyes narrowed, "Aren't you?"

You pause. Just barely, he hears you take a shuddery, uncertain breath. "I've never been."

Aki concentrates on the idle drum of raindrops — tapping against the roof, the windows, and the ground outside. Nourishing each blossoming tree, and every overgrown blade of grass. The sound is low, yet calming.

"That's a shame," He says. "The weather in the kingdom has been so much nicer."

Suddenly, in one smooth, quick movement, you're turning around. You're dropping the towel and the knife down on the counter with a faint clatter, and you're twisting to face him head on. Your cold glance is immediately interrogating him, flickering up, and then back down.

"Has? So you've been there recently?" You snap, the bridge of your nose forming a disgruntled knot. Your arms cross tightly over your chest. "Thought you were an adventurer. The kind that doesn't like to stay in one place, the kind that goes out searching for treasure and jewels and monsters- that sort of thing. Why don't you explain what you were doing in the kingdom, then?"

Aki frowns. "I was born there, if you must know."

"Yeah, I must," You counter sharply, a brow raised. "And that still doesn't answer my question."

Aki's teeth grit slightly when he sits up, a hint of stinging pain promptly sparking in his side. Firelight frames his face in amber hues and pockets of shadow — his expression is unreadable, but soft. Desperate, almost. If you were planning on telling him he should lay back down, the annoyed twitch in your brows is the most you let on.

"I'm an adventurer, just not the kind you're thinking of. I'm… I'm a devil hunter. That's what the people in the kingdom call it," He explains; the ache spreading through his body leaves him a tad out of breath, and his next words are spoken between a subtle wince. "I'll venture far from the kingdom to kill them, but I also take care of anything lurking too close to the city's outskirts. I came here to practice. The devils in this forest were reported to be weaker. At least, compared to the hunts I usually go after."

"Really?" You roll your eyes, huffing in exasperation while your arms go loose at your sides. "And I'm supposed to believe you came here to fight demons, without a weapon on you?"

"Devils, you mean."

"Whatever you call them."

Aki presses a palm against his side, and matches your stern gaze with a composed one. "I had a sword. The devils disarmed me, and when they did, they all but destroyed it. I left my things behind when I ran, to make it easier to escape. Hence why I showed up empty-handed."

You're quiet as you think, eyes glancing between him and his torso. "You're awfully terrible at coming up with excuses. Either you're a trained demon hunter, or you're an idiot who nearly lost his life to a bunch of demon-sprat. So, which is it?"

"Devils are ruthless," He explains hastily, "They can easily overwhelm their target if they attack in numbers, and I know you're aware of that, you must be. The storm- I think it was causing them to flock together. I'm telling the truth, there's no need for this. You don't have to keep trying to intimidate me."

"Shut up," You mutter through a scowl. Your hands have clenched into tight fists. Your brows are furrowed, and your jaw is locked tight. "You already deceived me once. I'm not going to sit idly while you do it again."

"I'm not lying. If you would just listen, please just calm down and-"

Quickly, without tearing your fierce gaze from his, you're reaching behind you to snatch the kitchen knife. You point the sparkling, sharpened end right at him. Thunder booms, and the sky alights with sparks that fleetingly bathe the room in a blinding flash. Aki goes quiet, his heart in his throat. In the darkening afterimage, he finally sees the whole of you — A raging flame, a thorned heart. The fire in your eyes is near engulfing. Your fear runs far deeper than he ever could've known.

He watches, as your arm trembles just barely, unease concealed behind a struggling steadfastness. You gnaw anxiously on your bottom lip. Your knuckles protrude from your hand, your grip on the leather hilt rigid and unacquainted.

Aki lets go of a long, deep breath. "Put that down."

"Give me one good reason, then." Your gaze is sharp, honed enough to cut through him all on its own. "Give me one reason why I should believe any word that comes from your filthy mouth."

Allowing his palm to slip from his torso, he carefully puts both hands up. It seems to do little to put you at ease.

"The knife," Aki murmurs, his gaze darting to you, then to your unsteady hand. "You don't know how to use it."

"Would you like to put that statement to the test?"

Aki tenses. "Devil hunter sounds far more intimidating than adventurer. I was trying not to scare you, that's all there is to it."

"Liar," You chide, "Serpent."

"I'll show you, if you'll let me." He speaks in a level tone, attempting to stay collected. His voice comes out quieter, his words are slow and deliberate, and he remains as still as he can possibly manage. Regardless, his chest gently rises and falls, falling in line with the relentless pound of his heart inside. Low light dances across his bare skin and faded scars.

"Once the storm clears," Aki continues, "I'll head back out, and I'll retrace my steps to find everything I dropped in the woods. You can come with me. Hold a knife to my throat the whole time, if you must. I'll lead you right to where the devils attacked me. My sword will be there, and my bag. Devils like to snatch whatever shiny gold pieces they can get their hands on, but if there's any gold left in my bag when we find it, it's yours. How does that sound?"

A conflicted expression dawns on your face — your brows knotted, eyes dark, lips pressed together. You stay focused on him, not yet answering. You're refusing to look away, with stress present in your form, stiff like a statue. Aki's chest aches, from something other than the wound's persistent pain.

"I'm sorry," He apologizes, mumbling earnestly, his voice soft. "I shouldn't have- I'm not dangerous. I won't hurt you. I promise. I'm just-"

"Don't." Your next breath trembles, it is shaky, weak. The knife's silver point, aimed towards his chest, glitters with his own reflection: warm and fire-lit. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Through your frail gaze, locked with his, Aki can taste the bitterness on your tongue. You remind him of the wolf, and the deer. The spark to ignite the flame, and the pyre, woefully made to be burned upon. You are shrinking up, your hand shaking ever-so slightly — and he can't help but feel as though he has just taken one step forward, and a thousand steps back.

He should feel frightened. Anyone else in his shoes would be. Truthfully, he doesn't think you'd hurt him; it's this keen intuition he's held onto, ever since he first wound up at your doorstep. And although he knew it was foolish of him to push his luck, to underestimate you, when you helped him, when you saved him, he realized he was always right.

Just like when he found himself deep in those devil-filled woods, he's come face to face with something — someone — who he's sure could destroy him. Everything he's ever known is telling him you could do so quickly, fiercely, in a tempest of crimson blood and vivid ash. He'd be lucky if he managed to take one final breath, before the heavens came down to greet him. Or, perhaps, you'll opt to destroy him slowly. Softly, waves of built-up hopes and intentions building until they're complete, deep enough to drown him in a sea he could never escape from, because he's never quite learned how to swim.

Fortunately, Aki isn't frightened by fate. Nor has he ever been scared by the things he really ought to be scared of.

Silence stretches on, and so too does the hum of the rain. All at once, you break it; Aki glances at you with a little less apprehension as you turn away, clumsily tossing the knife back onto the counter. You sigh listlessly, and you rest your elbows on the surface, leaning against it.

"This is pointless," You scoff, seeming defeated. "We're never going to get anywhere."

Aki slowly drops his hands into his lap. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. He almost speaks a handful of times, before finally settling on something to say.

"I've- I've made a mess of things, haven't I?" Glancing down, he doesn't meet your eyes. "For what it's worth, I am grateful for everything you've done for me. I know this is my fault. I won't take advantage of your kindness or your hospitality. It wouldn't be right. Come morning, I'll leave as soon as I can."

"No, you can't," You're suddenly arguing, turning around to face him. As he expected, your words sound sharp as ever, but your gaze on his is different, somehow. "You need to rest, for at least a few more days. Otherwise, your wound might leave lasting damage. You'll have to give up your whole demon hunting thing for good."

"I'll be fine." Aki stretches, bringing his arms over his head, then rolling his shoulders back. He rests his palm back on his side, and he uses his free hand to push his bangs from his eyes. "I've been through worse. Besides, I think whatever you gave me is working already."

You roll your eyes. "It's just numbing you, you fool. Please, didn't I already tell you to lay back down?"

Aki tries not to let too much guilt show on his face. With a hand on your hip, you glare at him expectantly, until he's slowly settling back into the cot. Once he's fully lying down, you take it as your cue to snatch the flask and towel from the counter behind you; the knife is distinctly pushed away, out of your reach, and out of the realm of worry. You make your way over, kneeling down next to him. After quickly unscrewing the cap, you reach out to offer him the flask.

"Here," You hum. You gently shake it, making the liquid inside slosh back and forth. "It's just water. Prop yourself up a bit, so you don't choke."

Hesitant at first, Aki props up slightly on his elbow. He takes the flask from you, careful not to let your fingers brush. He only has a few small swigs, but it's plenty refreshing. It immediately relieves the dryness in his throat, and chases away the last few bitter hints of medicine.

Once he hands the flask back to you, you're pausing, taking a moment to get a clear look at him. You focus on his face, his ruffled hair. His pointed ears, decorated with sparkling earrings. He can't help but feel his chest tighten, your gaze locking onto his. You hold his stare for merely a second or two, but your eyes; they transfix him, like they're a sanctum he should be praying to.

Then, you're looking down, and Aki watches while you silently inspect his torso. Idly, he wonders what you might've seen to make your brows furrow, and to cause your lips to form the slightest pout.

"You were angry enough to hold a knife to me mere moments ago," Aki murmurs, before breathing a short, light-hearted sigh. Your gaze meets his own once more, your brow raised in curiosity. "And now, you're asking me to stay."

"Yeah, I am. Would you prefer I toss you out?" You proceed to pour a generous amount of water onto the towel. You set the flask aside, and then, you reach up, bringing the towel to his nape. "Hold still."

Aki tilts his head to the side, the water cool and damp when it touches his skin. "Not really," He answers; you dab the towel onto a small, fresh scrape just above his collarbone, and you wipe off the traces of dirt and dried blood. "Unless you think that'd be best."

You lean over him a little, giving a quick once-over to his adjacent side and shoulder. "Your legs, let me see them."

Aki shoves the thin blanket you'd covered him with aside. The moment it's gone, you're rolling up the legs of his trousers. You clumsily push them up to his knees, until he can feel the warmth of the fire, lapping at his bare skin.

Both legs have a few sets of scrapes, but his knees are the worst offense. They're bruised and raw from falling, firstly after those stray devils had managed to topple him. He recalls rushing through the forest, hearing their howls from behind him as they gathered in numbers. Vision growing dizzy, he tripped over overgrown roots and rocks obscured by the darkness, just to force himself to his feet over and over again. The sight clearly displeases you, getting you to breathe an annoyed tch, and you press your damp towel to the knee closest to you. It stings, slightly.

"I wasn't going to hurt you, just so you know," You huff, focusing on your work. "My mind was made up from the moment I brought you in. There would be no sense in going back on that now."

"I know. But I wouldn't have blamed you," Aki remarks. "You have good reasons not to trust me."

Those words get you to freeze, briefly. Aki eyes you, calm and straight-faced. Diligently, you apply water to a new corner of the towel, and you reach over to clean the scrapes on his other leg.

"You're to stay right here for the next few days, and not move. Got it?" You instruct; you lean back, and he nods, pulling the legs of his pants back into place. In spite of your assuredness, you seem to falter, staring down at your hands and pondering to yourself. As if, while you think, you've momentarily forgotten he's even here. Each breath, once, and then another, you take on edge. He almost asks if you're alright — before abruptly, you return to busying yourself.

Your towel is discarded onto the floor, as you murmur, "Sit up. Slowly, please."

Aki pushes up all the way, straightening his back. You shift until you're able to reach his side. Your touch is gentle, and your fingertips begin to softly evaluate the bandages around his waist.

When he fails to hold back a wince, you ask calmly, "Does the wound still hurt?"

"A little," Aki manages. He keeps most of his weight rested on his arms, his palms pressed flat to either side of the cot. "The pain is dull, though. It isn't as strong as it was before."

Your touch is feather-light and foreign. He isn't used to being fretted over like this; his shoulders and the back of his neck feel hot, and he can feel the delicate brush of your fingers faintly, even through the fabric. The weak ghost of your touch on his sensitive skin is enough to make his spine tingle.

"You've got those herbs to thank for that," You remark, pulling away. "Once you're rested and healed, and only then, you'll be free to leave. I'm not sending you back out there just to be demon food. Not after I've used a month's worth of medicine on you."

There's a small beat of silence, as you search for the cap you'd set aside, carefully screwing it back on the flask. You rise to your feet. You neatly spread the damp towel out by the side of the fireplace, next to Aki's drying shirt, like it's a task you've performed a thousand times before. He grinds his teeth together — an action you don't notice — but inevitably, he isn't able to stop himself from speaking.

"If it's alright," He starts, waiting until you've turned back towards him to continue. "Could I ask you something?"

Your arms cross. "Possibly."

"Why did you help me?" Aki swallows, and he feels his jaw start to grow tense. His gaze wavers, shifting between you and his lap. "You could've turned me away, thrown me out, swore at me- You could've done anything, besides what you did. I hardly understand it."

Expression softening, you laugh — You actually laugh, lips upturned, the corners of your eyes crinkled, and Aki fights against his own heart as it threatens to burst from his chest.

"I wasn't aware I needed a reason," You retort, shrugging.

"You don't need one. I was just wondering if there was one."

"If you must know," You mumble; mocking him, he thinks, as you put on some horrible, deep impression that he can only assume is meant to be his own voice. You clear your throat after that, glancing away, quieting. You hold your own arm, and you rub it in a nervous sort of motion. "I wanted to, I suppose. End of story."

"You- You wanted to?"

"Of course," You're answering dryly, "What, are you saying you don't believe me? I can't save some stupid lying adventurer out of the goodness of my own heart?"

"No, I believe you." He answers you calmly, smoothly. "That's a fine reason."

"Is it?" You hesitate, gaze tearing away from his own to focus on the ground. Aki watches you take in a subtle, steady breath. "Sorry, I didn't expect- I'm not sure how I should explain it. I think I…" Suddenly, you sigh, letting your arms fall limp at your sides. "I guess I've seen too much death to just… let you die."

I've seen too much death to let you die.

Oh. Aki stalls, the sound of his own heartbeat and the echo of steady raindrops working in tandem to play a tune in his ears. Your previous lightheartedness dissolves with the room's building silence, and with those words. They remind him of himself. You remind him of himself — Scared and alone, a herald of death, despite all your efforts to wash its stench from your skin. And Aki, he has been followed by so, so much death.

It's impossible to know exactly what you're burdened with, but he knows what that sort of weight feels like. Death is a heavy thing. The tolls of both people and devils alike have long since sunk into him with fangs bared. Necessary evils, his colleagues would say: the men who trained him, the men who died beside him. To meet your end protecting this land is an honor, to slaughter devils is an accomplishment. By now, blood and death and slaughter are practically burned into his palms and the back of his eyelids. Grasping the hilt of his sword feels as natural as breathing. He can't remember the last time he dreamt of anything pleasant.

In the quietness to follow, Aki tries to picture himself in your place. How much have you lost, to make you so distrusting? How strong and how good is your heart, to still have offered him a safe place to land? Sure, if you were dying, bleeding out, the sight filling his lungs with embers, his head enveloped in the scent of blood and petrichor — Even if you needed him, he shouldn't be saving you. Saving you would go against everything. But he would. In much the same way, he wouldn't let you die. And he knows he wouldn't hesitate.

When it was all said and done, his path at your side would have led in the same direction. Perhaps because it was meant to. Perhaps, if he defies everything, he can keep that path on its course, and he can deserve your efforts to save him.

Realizing you've opened up a little more than you would have liked to, or maybe discerning that you've been standing there gawking at the puzzled, wide-eyed look on his face for far too long — Abruptly, you stand up straight, righting yourself. You stride over to him, taking quick, certain steps. Aki can't help but tense when you put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady. Your eyes narrow, your glance traveling over him with quiet contemplation.

"And if we don't want you to die," You start; you're standing up again, with liveliness finally returning to your tone. A faux liveliness, maybe. "You need more medicine. I'm fresh out, so I'll need to gather more if you're to fully recover. Damn," You study him, your hand coming to your chin. "Bandages, too. I almost forgot. I'll need to substitute them- Leaves? No, I'm sure there's some clothes I don't need somewhere…"

Aki's brow raises once you start to trail off. "Are you sure I should stay?"

"Yeah. Of course I am, I already told you."

Leaving it at that, you head back to the kitchen, taking care of the last few steps needed to clean up. While you're busy, he decides to have a proper look around for the first time since he awoke.

The cottage is small, but well lived-in. There's a bowl of chopped fruit, and a vase of fresh flowers sitting atop a rickety-looking dining table. Asters: flowers with purple petals, and a bright yellow center. A few candles line the table and the kitchen counter, flickering with light and dripping with wax. The shelves in the living room are filled with dusty books and interesting nick nacks. He recognizes various creatures hand-carved in wood: a bird, a Great Elk, a kelpie. You've carved lots of birds, actually. You have a whole shelf dedicated to them, large and small and mystical alike.

A book is left sprawled open over the arm of a wooden rocking chair. As if whoever was reading it needed to mark their page in a spur of the moment, and they'd left it there, planning to return to it shortly.

Aki recognizes the cover; a knight, with armor and a shining sword, holding the blade up to a painted sun. The Holy Knight, the story is called, if Aki remembers correctly. Some tale about a knight rescuing a princess, saving the land from a curse, and marrying her to become the king — awfully traditional, for a fairytale.

Not that he minds. Books rarely interested him when he was a kid, but his brother loved those sorts of stories. Aki would read them to him, when their parents were away. Have you read this one as many times as he has, he wonders?

"You're sure I'm not- ehem," Aki clears his throat, turning his attention back towards you. "Overstepping? Feels like I'm intruding on your home."

Your response is quick, sharp, and immediate. "This isn't my home."

"Really?" Aki questions innocently.

You freeze up for a moment, before returning to washing the bowl in your hands, scrubbing the inside with a tattered rag. "I mean- for now, it is. This place was abandoned by the time I got here, I'm only passing through. I'll be leaving once I'm done gathering what I can from the forest. The demons are becoming too much lately."

Immersed in thought, he can't help but restlessly chew on his bottom lip. He won't press you, it'd be best not to. Although, the current plan he's thought of isn't exactly the smartest of choices, either.

Damn it all.

"I understand," Aki hums. He brings a palm to the back of his neck, nervously running his fingers over a mismatch of scars there. "We should leave together, then."

Immediately, you turn around on your heels, your cape fluttering, and give him your most agitated glare yet. "Why are you so insistent on dying?"

"I didn't mean 'leave right now,'" Aki corrects, matter-of-fact. "We can head for the kingdom once I'm healed, and once you've taken care of everything you need to do here, however long that might take. I can keep myself busy. You said you've never been, right? I know the way, I can take you."

You scoff, shifting your weight from heel to heel, "They aren't letting anyone in unless you come with a letter of admission. It's been that way for years now."

"I grew up there. I know how to get you in," Aki replies. Firelight dances in his eyes when you catch them: blue hues, warm and earnest, sparkling like sapphires. Such riches have always been out of your reach, until now. "I can show you around too, if you'd like. It'll be to repay you. For everything you've done for me."

"I don't have any interest in going to the kingdom."

"Why not?" Aki shrugs, tilting his head. His pointed ears give the slightest curious twitch. "It isn't as bad as you might think. If you'd let me talk to you about it, maybe I could end up convincing you."

"You'd sooner convince me to toss myself to the demons." You half-roll your eyes, leaning against the edge of the counter. You turn to watch the dying rain pelt the dining room window: cascading droplets on colorful stained glass.

"Either way," You're continuing, "I have plans. There's somewhere else I need to be, somewhere far away from here- Close to the north mountains, that's where my hometown is. The kingdom is in the exact opposite direction, if you recall."

"That's fine," Aki pivots, after a slight pause. He follows the line of your gaze, trying to discern what you're looking at. Droplets race on the window, before disappearing once they've chased each other too far. "You're still welcome to leave when I do. It'll be safer that way, traveling out of the forest together. As long as you're alright with that, of course. By then, I'm sure I'll be fine enough to head out alone. I want you to be safe. But I don't want you to… feel like you have to listen to me. Or something like that."

He feels like a damn fool, stumbling over his sentences as if he's got no clue what he's trying to say. Aki's jaw tenses, but thankfully, you don't seem very fazed.

"Let's just figure it out later," You huff, "Alright?"

Aki eyes you, up and down. You stand in place, your arms crossed, tapping your foot. Finally, you quit leaning on the counter, standing up straight, and you approach the dining room table. He watches as you reach up, deftly untying your cape and pulling it from your shoulders. You drape it over the back of a wooden dining chair.

"I should introduce myself, shouldn't I?" Aki starts; you stare at him from the corner of your eye, and you're moving in his direction while he's continuing. "You can call me Aki. I'm glad to be acquainted."

He has his hand extended for you to shake by the time you're stopping in front of him. Though, instead, you give him a once over, before immediately striding to the nearby fireplace. Aki awkwardly lowers his hand into his lap, and you proceed to grab a log, tossing it into the fire, where it becomes swiftly accepted by the flames.

Aki clears his throat. "Could I know your name, as well? I'd like to know who I have to thank for saving my life."

You dust your hands. Without giving him a passing glance, you head towards a door on the room's opposite end. The wood is engraved with an intricate design: twin birds, and blossoming flowers.

"I'm going to bed," You tell him, and Aki stares at your back and tensed shoulders, somewhat dumbfounded. You turn the doorknob slowly, allowing the door to open with a creak. It's far too dark to make out anything inside, besides the light of the moon, shining onto some shelves from a small set of windows.

Tone unreadable, you spare him one last look from over your shoulder. "I'll be waking up at sunrise to gather herbs for your medicine. I'll try not to wake you when I do. If you're hungry, I chopped some apples for you earlier. They're on the dining table. I suggest you get some rest, you won't regain your strength without it."

He still doesn't know your name. He still doesn't have your trust — but that's alright. The kingdom is days away, isn't it? And besides, if anyone followed his trail, he doubts they'd be able to find what they're looking for. This cottage is well-hidden. Nearly too hidden for him to find, actually. As long as he's here with you, treading this line, there's time. Plenty and plenty of time.

The Gods can watch, as he defies everything his wretched people once prayed for, once sought to destroy, while letting himself get swept under.

"Goodnight," Aki murmurs, before you can finish closing the bedroom door behind you. "Sleep well."

The fire crackles. Rain taps against the roof in fading whispers, and Aki watches your door shut with an inferno in his heart.

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x you

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summertimemusician · 1 year ago

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Linktober Shadow, Day 1

Gibdo

Linked Universe Time x Reader

(Can be seen as both Romantic and Platonic)

TW: Graphic Descriptions of Gore and Rot, as well as nightmares, and a bit of Whump(?) please do not read if you're highly squeamish, even if it's not long just to be safe. As this deals with dark times as is usual to Majora's Mask, may also be read outside of a Linked Universe context.

*walks on in to Dark Linktober and Linktober both with sleep deprivation, coffee and kind of late, drops this, refuses to elaborate* Kind of self indulgent but I hope whoever finds this enjoys, it's spooky season and I am taking full opportunity to go ham XD

The beast a few feet away of you was foul, with it's thin, leathery flesh barely clinging to it's bone hollow cheeks, the sickly sweet scent of rot and decay mixing with that of old, burnt flesh, barely hidden by once white, now sullied and dirty cloth in a failed attempt at appearing harmless as it slowly decayed, it's sallow, sunken yellow eyes scan the abandoned graveyard and you stay very, very still where you've sank behind the side of the Music Box House, heart like a deer's facing down a Lynel as you heard it's long, unnatural fingers drag across the stone, the click, click, click of it's nails against stone and it's tortured moans in it's everlasting, tormented hunt sending chills down your spine.

It is nowhere near the dawn of a new day and sunlight barely reached Ikana Canyon, and you had no desire to become one of the many ivory and yellowed bones of the dead in this wretched, horrible place of tragedy.

You trade a look with Link from across your hiding place, eyes stopping on his arm before forcing yourself to snap to his sapphire and iron gilded gaze again, he had to get to Pamela's Father, but this run had unexpectedly gone south from you both getting attacked midway to the canyon and him hurting his sword arm attempting to sneak past the Gibdo's. The strangled, bitten off scream that left his throat as one of the beast sank it's rotten, cracks teeth into his flesh hard enough to almost crack bone so very horrific you didn't think twice before shooting it with a flame blessed arrow and dragging him away, teeth bared in defiance, but it's disguise of sickly and wounded falling away with it's pained, furious howl to reveal a Redead had attracted more of them to your location with it's inhuman, obsidian and blood rust coated fury of necromancy cursed beasts, forcing you both to hide as you didn't have anymore fairies and potions from slaying the third of Majora's twisted, reality poisoning generals.

This was meant to be a scouting quest before a reset darn it, how had it gone so wrong so quickly?

(How much more would it take? Which one would lead to the road where your dearest friend, the people of Termina and yourself didn't burn over the unknowable, cruel whims of cursed divinity? How much more must Link bleed, give and slowly kill himself for?-)

The walking corpse groans, it's too close to his location and there are two to your other left that could rush any of you at any second, he's the one with the Ocarina and you refuse to let him try using one of those masks while wounded, you saw how he screeched like someone slowly pulling the flesh from his bones one too many times to tolerate. You twitch just as he does, but you move faster, bow already draw and with three arrows knocked, your arms straining against the taught strings.

You may not have any more flame blessed arrows, but you knew how to make fiery ones that would be just enough for the situation at hand.

Link sends you a steely glare caught between betrayal and understanding as he nods, gritting his teeth as he mouths to you a simple, pleading resquest:

'Do not die.'

"MOVE!" You snarl, as you let your arrows fly, one of them hits the Gibdo near him right in the eye and the fire catches as if it's been doused in oil and it screams writhing and squirming with pain as it tries to shrug it's cloth away. The sound between once human and abominable loud enough you swear you feel something warm dripping from your ears but have no time to check as the other two, handcrafted fire arrows cripple it's leg and one of it's arms that were creeping around your mask wielding friend's hiding spot as he books it as fast as his legs will carry him with the Bunny Hood, you whirl around, shooting the one's right around your corner with one arrow each and prepare to cover his back.

You don't look behind yourself as you hear the house's door slam shut and Tatl's cut off call of your name, instead focusing on drawing the profane beast's attention away from it, knowing they are eager to see your insides decorate the Ikana grounds to join their once living brethren, to attempt to bite down around your ribs and quaff down your lukewarm blood with vesania inked glee and maddened grieving elation as you struggle against the petrifying glare with animal franticness and all the defiance your humanity gave you as one of them holds you down and it HURTSTEARSROTSANDYOUCANNOTMOVE-

"---(Name)!"

You shoot up from your bedroll, dagger in hand, barely scraping the throat of whoever had your shoulders in a firm, but reassuring grip, breathing hard as the brief burst of adrenaline leaves your body as it comes face to face with aquamarine, phosphophylite and cinnabar marks around a beautifully night sky blue gaze with all the intensity of a wolf caring for it's pack. Your grip on the pristine blade you've taken to carrying slackening even as he already moved away with practiced ease, the same way you would when he'd lash out when you wakened him from night terrors to avoid getting your head lopped off, even knowing instinctively you'd never hurt one another.

Time.

Safe, alive, free if highly traumatized Time.

... Then again, you can't judge.

He scans you with one eye, quiet concern and understanding as he slowly moves to tuck some hair behind your ear in a low tone, dimly you note the faint squeeze to your pulse, reassuring you both as you drop your dagger to the side, much preferring to take his calloused hand in yours instead than cold, unfeeling steel, "Nightmare?"

You take a moment, breathing, drinking him in turn, and the fact that you had both left the worst of Termina behind as you do your best to cut down the lingering memories away, a brittle smile comes to your lips as you scan the camp as you squeeze his hand back, "Mhm, same old, sorry. Did I wake anyone up?"

"No, I got to you before you could. You looked troubled and I couldn't have that." he shakes his head, gently he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. "You've no need to apologize."

He'd have done the same, has done the same but your positions were reversed, you have the same nightmares after all.

You smile, his devotion as always cutting through the night terrors than any blade or arrow, a welcome bit of reinforcements that you knew would never fail, you gently lift a hand to caress his cheek, just to reassure yourself that he is real, touching your foreheads together, "Thank you."

He closes his eyes, the soft rumble of his voice like the wind over leaves fully taking your worries away as surely as the tides in his eyes took the love you dared not voice aloud each passing day, "Always."

You both take a moment to stay like that, silent as you steady yourselves, still in disbelief you were both still here, before he gently places a hand atop yours, giving it a light squeeze, "Walk with me? I don't believe any of us will be able to get anymore sleep tonight."

Your smile, mischievous glee dyeing it as you kiss his free cheek, echoing his words back at him, "Always. Must you ask?"

He gives you a flat look, and you can't help but laugh. Gently he pulls you to your feet and, just to be a menace that you and Warriors knew he never ceased to be, rather than let you actually walk with him as he requested, he sweeps you from your feet and into a princess carry, making you have to bite down an outraged shriek and cackle as you ineffectively smack one of his shoulders with hissed, half hearted protests lest you both wake the entire camp. Affronted but amused as you catch the glimpse of a smirk, heart warm as you catch the slight shaking of his chest as he silently laughs too.

(If Wolfie sends you both an unimpressed look, having jerked awake from the sudden movement when you both return to camp, taking leaves and twigs from one another's hair from a 'daring' escape you've made that involved almost knocking you and Time both into a river, well, you'll just make it up to Twilight later in the morning and you're sure Time will help with Epona as well.)

It matters not that the pale moon attempted to remind you of the undead's eyes, and of the many horrors you've faced in that long distant journey that still had the tips of their claws in your souls, when you knew he'd keep you safe. And that you'd do your best to protect him now as you did back then.

#linked universe x reader #linked universe time x reader #link x reader #Majora's Mask references #dark linktober #Summer Writes Dark Linktober #This Entry is Brought to You by My Renewed Obsession with OoT/MJM #A lot of coffee that could kill a less spiteful person #And my sleep deprived choice making that is usually Not Good™#definitely self indulgent

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ultralightpoe · 2 years ago

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Ouuuu so excited could I get an Aemond imagine based on the summoning by sleep token song specifically the last minute and 35 seconds (it’s the best part lol) if that doesn’t strike your fancy any chase Atlantic song haha…thanks I can’t wait to read it 🥰

The Summoning - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: Would you be mad if I admitted to never hearing this song before? Cause shit......it's a good song...... and I think I'm about to absolutely butcher it for you

Warnings: Smut..... There is definitely some smut in this one. 18+ please

Word Count: 1706

Description: Aemond is no match for the witch he loves

If you want to make a character and song request look HERE

Enjoy!

I've got a river running right into you

I've got a blood trail, red in the blue

Something you say or something you do

A taste of the divine

You lead him through the woods, one hand dragging him while the other carries a small satchel of the necessities needed for whatever spell you wanted to perform that day.

The mischievous gleam in your eye was twice as intense as normal, and it set Aemonds blood on fire as he let you lead him far away. You could be planning on killing him and he would let you, so long as you kept looking at him with those eyes.

His foot snags on a branch and he stutters in steps, you allow him to fall into you, both leaning against a tree allowing him to trap you in. Like a sailor trapped by a siren he lunges for a kiss, which you happily allow.

He devours you, hands coming up to hold your jaw as you moan lightly before he leans to lick the salty sweat off your neck, groaning to himself when you reach to tear off the eyepatch.

“Not here-” You gasp, rubbing into him. There is something so intoxicating about your that has Aemond clinging to your every word, allowing him to dissolve into your taste. “Just a few more steps, my prince, into the clearing.”

“Lead the way witchling.” He whispers, stepping off to let you lead him through the dark again.

You've got my body, flesh and bone, yeah

The sky above, the Earth below

He lands on the dirt under him, groaning out as you snag at his leather vest, trying to tear it off.

Around him is an entire set up of candles, goblets of blood and painted stones encircling where he was laying down with you grinding down into him from where you currently straddled him.

“Are….Are we sacrificing ourselves tonight?” He teases, biting back a groan as his hands reach to stop your hips. “Will my witch bleed for me?”

“So long as you do it hard.” You gasp out, finally removing his vest. He is too busy staring at the stars above him as you grab the knife and tear it across the front of his shirt to expose his chest to the night air.

Before he can make a sarcastic comment you move off him to slice his leather riding pants and with a small amount of his help remove them from his body before shoving him back to lay down, untying your own corset as he watches, a possessive look gleaming in his eyes while you strip bare.

Then you straddle him once more, smirking when he seethes from the touch. “Are you ready?”

“Always.” With his answer you sink down onto him while slicing a small cut down his chest.

Raise me up again

Take me past the edge

I want to see the other side

See the other side

He’s cumming before he even has a chance to catch his breath, eyes searing shut as you grind into him, thighs tightening as he groans out.

You don’t seem to mind, too busy cutting the symbol needed into his flesh as you ride him, murmuring the chant over and over. Your voice is coming out in pants, the man below you filling you to the brim before you are even ready for it, not that it mattered. You would be doing this to him all night if it was needed.

His head throws back in bliss as you make the final cut on his chest, blood pouring from the wounds. “FUCK-”

He catches your eye right as you swipe a finger along the blood, dragging it to your lips and sucking it clean. Something flashes in him and he finds himself thrusting up into you, already hard again.

“No.” You snap, pushing his hips down with your own that has him moaning out. “It’s your turn to do it.”

Before he can process what you mean you are handing him the knife and dipping your fingers in his blood before lifting them up to your own chest and tracing a symbol. He nearly falls apart at the sight when you squeeze around him.

You've got my body, flesh and bone

The sky above, the Earth below

“Are you….” His mouth is dry as he licks his lips, trying to catch his breath under you. “Are you sure?”

You answer by grinding down and leaning over him until your hands were in the dirt on either side of his head, breast against his chest as you lick some of his blood. This snaps something in him and he flips you both around so you are on the earth and thrusts harshly.

“You’re a fu- shit- fucking tease.” He moans, wrapping your legs around his hips as his thrusts speed up until you squeeze around him and moan out loudly as you cum.

He doesn’t waste time, taking the knife and carving it into the flesh of your chest, leaning down to catch a nipple in his mouth as he does so.

“You own me-” You moan out, hands flying to grasp at his skin. “Body flesh and bone, my prince.”

“Body flesh and bone.” He whispers back before biting down on your breast.

Raise me up again

Take me past the edge

I want to see the other side

His skin heats up instantly as he finishes the symbol, his entire body on fire as he pulses with need. Gasping for air as he lays his forehead on your chest, snapping his hips into yours, desperate to cause friction.

You must be feeling the same way under him, mewling out as you thrust up in an attempt to make him go faster. “It hurts.”

It did, a searing addicting kind of pain that made him light up at your every touch. The wind around the both of you seemed to nip at your skin as he shut his eyes in attempt to ease himself.

He was so close-

Won't you show me what it's like?

You flip yourselves back over before he can finish, not that he is complaining because once he looks at you it was heaven sent.

You were looking back down at him, eyes black from whatever magic you were possessing as you lifted yourself off of him. “Do you want to feel the power?”

Yes yes yes yes yes. He doesn’t know if he is actually responding or just a moaning mess as you sink down onto him before taking a bit of your blood and swiping it across his mouth.

The iron taste of it has his cock leaking pre cum, biting down on your thumb before you can pull it away when the spell fully takes him. He can see stars, not the ones in the sky but rather the ones you provide, his entire body tensing up under you.

Oh, and my love

Did I mistake you for a sign from God?

Or are you really here to cut me off?

Or maybe just to turn me on

“Goddess ruin me!” He yells as his head throws back, hands snapping to your hips as you bounce on him, a moaning mess yourself. “That’s what you are? Is it not?”

“What’s that?” You pant out, dragging one of his hands to your breast.

“A goddess.” He groans out, biting at his own lip as pleasure overtakes him once more. “FUCK!”

You laugh, closing your eyes as you let yourself fall apart, gripping him like he was the last thing on this earth to cling to. Just as you both finish the heat that had consumed you eases itself and you both breathe out, pulsing with the other.

“Goddess..” He whispers, staring up at you as he rubs your thigh and pinches your nipple. You groan out, head throwing back as he starts the next round.

'Cause these days

I would be lying if I told you that

I didn't wish that I could be your man

Or maybe make a good girl bad

He takes control once more, flipping you both over and thrusting into you at an unnatural speed that has you screaming out, snatching his hair and pulling.

“Scream all you fucking want-” He sneers, hand running up to cover your throat and squeeze. “No one can hear you out here goddess.”

Your eyes roll back as he cuts off circulation, coming undone over him once more.

“That’s it. That’s. Fucking. Right.” He snaps, leaning to bite at your shoulder blade as he works you like his own little toy, your thighs shaking as you continue to cum around him.

“Mine.” He grunts after he marks your shoulder. “Mine. Mine. MINE.”

The flames around you burn bright, turning red to deep black and back to red as the spell finishes, both of you shaking as you finish one more time.

I've got a river running right into you

I've got a blood trail, red in the blue

Something you say or something you do

The taste of the divine

He licks you clean between your thighs, moaning at the taste as you still try to come down from your orgasm. Then he carries you to the river not far off and holds you as he sinks into the water, taking you once more right there before washing you clean and kissing along your marks, both your chests clear of any marks from the knife.

“Witchling.” He bites out as he finishes in you once more, leaning to bite your lip while you moan out. “Goddess.”

You've got my body, flesh and bone

The sky above, the Earth below

Nothing to say and nowhere to go

A taste of the divine

He carries you back to the small clearing of the spell, laying with you until he falls asleep holding you.

When he awakes there is nothing. No sight of you, no sight of any of the essentials from last night. His hand flies to his chest to find it clean, pure, nothing there.

A tense desperation fills him, pumping under his skin as he closes his eyes. “Witchling.”

(sorry if that was hella cringey)

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond #targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #smut #witch #witch smut

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queen--kenobi · 1 year ago

Text

HELLO??? THIS IS SO GODDAMN HOT IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL???????? Holy FUCK how did I not read this sooner

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, his breath hot and seductive against your heated skin, “this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it, princess?” The raw, molten want makes Boba’s voice even deeper—its rumble shakes your very core and it makes you gush as its ridges ripple over you. Bunching the slick material of your dress in his hands, Boba pulls the garment over your hips so you can straddle him properly when the pair of you collapse onto the couch.

AAÀAA HOW. THIS ISN'T FAIR THIS IS SO HOT HOW THE FUCK DO YOU WRITE LIKE THIS IT'S SO NOT FAIR

The magma of his words melts your bones. Your composure is a shard away from shattering under the enormous pressure of your desire for everything Boba Fett has to offer. All you have to do is throw the final stone. “And I suppose you’re just the one to teach me some, then?” you retort with all the derision you can pull together.

Shit fuck. Shitfuck. I'm. Just. The way you describe everything blows my mind, but like??? This????? How do you manage to capture these sorts of feelings so well

The skittering beat of your heart skips in your chest and the rushing sound of hot blood fills your ears. Your nails dig into his pectorals and your mouth goes dry as the bass of his words reverberates in your ears with their salacious implications. When you try to swallow the weight of it down your throat, it sticks to your tongue like sand; he would hold your everything in the palm of his hand, you would be at his complete mercy.

Seriously. Seriously. This is just downright poetic my God

Realization snaps into focus in your mind and you sit up, staring into the dark depths of Boba’s eyes. You can almost feel your pupils dilate as your thighs tense around his broad frame. Your mouth falls open but no words come out, your eyes pleading for his understanding instead. While the cage of your true desire had already been unlocked, it’s only now that you understand why.

“Oh,” he breathes, his chest shuddering with a sharp intake of air, “that’s it, isn’t it, little one? You want to be taken care of, spoiled… to have someone give you everything you’re too scared to ask for. You need permission to give it all up, don’t you? You need to know it’s okay to let go?” His eyes burn with the fires of your rebirth and you’re ready to be thrown on the pyre.

Oh my God I feel so seen with this. Genuinely I feel like you somehow reached into my brain and very core and plucked this out. I've never seen that feeling, that need, described like this, and it's so spot on. Excuse me I'm gonna go scream

No but genuinely. This is amazing and insanely hot while also being genuine and so well written. It's smutty, yes, but it's also so heartfelt and real? I'm in awe of what you've done here

EX LIBRIS II

PART II: INTRODUCTION

—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: Professor Fett helps you learn a few new things about yourself through some old-school discipline.

—WORD COUNT: 7.9k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, age gap (reader is mid-twenties, Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, bdsm elements, reader is introduced to dom/sub power dynamics, dom!Boba/sub!reader, reader is a BRAT (and I love her), some self-discovery, some pinches of soft Boba for good measure, spanking, praise (so so much praise), use of petnames, making out, dirty talk

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ok so this ended up being wayyyy longer than I thought so I broke up this scene into two parts (don't be mad at me 😭). Also I like to think that life has been a little bit kinder to Professor Boba and thus he's a little softer around the edges when it comes to expressing emotion.

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

The two of you don't even make it through his door before you're on each other like a couple of teenagers, groping and gasping, grabbing whatever parts of the other you can get your hands on. Your purse and his keys are flung carelessly to the side—anything that wasn't the warmth of his or your body entirely unimportant.

Now freed to follow your desire, you slot your knees around his hips, a smart-mouthed reply ready on your lips. Before it can make it to his ears, however, Boba grinds his impossibly hard bulge into your aching center, pulling you against him roughly. Electric pleasure skitters up your nerves and he feels so damn good pressed tight between your thighs. All those nights you dreamed of this, all those self-indulgent daydreams, couldn’t come close to the tectonic gratification of Boba sliding against your throbbing cunt.

The mewl that tumbles from your lips when he ruts into you again is positively pathetic, the sound of your desperation on full display despite your pretense of self-control. Your cheeks and ears burn with embarrassment, and you try to hide in the crook of his neck to pull yourself together—you don’t want to give him the upper hand, not just yet; you’ve still got some fight in you and you want him to earn it. His body under yours is more than you could ever imagine and still woefully not enough, you want him, you need him in the way a drowning man needs air. The struggle to get it would make your reward all the sweeter.

A laugh rumbles dark and heavy from the depths of his broad chest. “Don’t hide now, little princess, not when you were so eager just a few moments ago.” One of his large hands leaves your hips and skims up your side to cup your jaw, angling your face to back up to his. The hungry look in his umber eyes recalls images of gnashing teeth and hard-bitten pleasure, of sin itself in all its tantalizing glory.

You do your best to glare at the handsome man before you, but you know the battle is already lost, the cracks of your resolve echoing in your ears. “Wasn’t hiding,” you insist, your eyes rolling back behind fluttering lashes when the seam of his pants scraps along your center with luscious friction. Your hands slide up his chest to latch on to his lapels in an attempt to ground yourself against the unrelenting tide of him.

“No need to lie, not when I can feel that needy little pus-”

Your courage rallies at his taunting and you yank him forward by his collar to crash your lips into his, nipping at his lower lip in defiance. “You sure do like to talk,” you pant between the hot press of his mouth, “must be why you became a professor.”

Boba drops his hand down to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat and squeezing. You squeal, your hips grinding down on his lap on their own accord. Fuck, I want him to do that while he’s balls deep in my guts. His large hand wrapped around your airway sets off an urgent, primal need that has been locked away in the mantle of your being, hidden and unanswered. It’s going to burn you alive, char you over until you’re nothing but a pile of ashes; it’s terrifying and exhilarating. Boba Fett is the answer to a question you didn’t even know you had, and by the fire in eyes and the set of his jaw he knows it.

“You talk to everybody that way?” he grunts, tutting as he releases the pressure on your throat to just firm enough to be a reminder of its presence. The words stick to your tongue, so you answer with a disparaging expression that makes his eyes flash and your heart race. “Looks like you’re going to have to learn some manners then, little one, because I am not everyone.”

The obsidian gravel in his tone is tearing your sanity to shreds and by all the gods in the heavens you can’t find it in yourself to care—being whole never felt as good as this. Boba tugs you towards him by your neck, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But that’s what you like, isn’t it?” he taunts, pure confidence dripping thick from his words, “You want someone who knows just what to do with a mouthy little brat like you, don’t you?”

“Oh, little princess,” he growls, deep and throaty, the vibrations of his desire magnifying your own, “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” He sears his assurance into your very soul with a white-hot kiss that’s all sharp teeth and fire, leaving you nothing more than a molten, gasping thing when he pulls back. “And you’re going to beg me to do it.”

You moan a curse, the sound long and heady. The rush of sensation, pleasure, anticipation, and pure carnal hunger fills your lungs, displacing any oxygen left in your chest. Rather than feeling fear, however, all that burns through you is craving, a perverse longing for predatory violence. You cant your hips over his straining erection like a creature in heat, chasing the relief that only he could ever provide.

As soon as the coil of pleasure in your belly begins to splinter, Boba tightens his fingers around your throat and presses you still against him. You writhe in his grasp, desperate for more friction and more of him. Blood is in the water and it’s overwhelming everything else in you.

“Easy now, you’ll get what’s coming to you, don’t worry, princess,” he assures calmly. “Now I’m going to let you go and you’re going to sit still.” There’s not even an inch of space left for disobedience in his tone. He releases your throat, massaging the delicate skin lightly before removing his hand completely to fall back to your hip.

It takes all your willpower not to wriggle and grind your soaked panties on his crotch. Biting down hard on your bottom lip, you suck in a deep breath to try and settle your screaming nerves, your eyes sliding shut. Rather than fighting him for control, you’re fighting yourself—and you don’t have much left in you.

Boba’s thumbs rub soothing circles into the softness of your sides. “There you go, that’s a good girl,” he coos in his smoldering timbre, a smile dancing on his words.

A bolt of pure lightning strikes down your spine straight to your slick core, splitting you in half and fusing you back together ragged and sharp all over again. Good girl good girl good girl. You’re on his lips in an instant, moaning and fervid. Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, I’ve never wanted anything so bad, I’ve never been this turned on in my whole fucking life-

When Boba tears you away from his lips with a hand around the back of your neck, you whine high and pitchy at being denied once more. “Hush,” he orders sternly, his handsome bronze features lined with seriousness. “Behave or this ends now.”

The heat of the electricity pumping in your veins runs cold and you freeze, staring at Boba with wide, anxious eyes—you might just die if this stops. And dying without knowing him and what all this man is promising you is a fate even worse than death, so you do your best to swallow back the desperation in your gut.

“You going to be good?”

You nod fervently, eager to show your remorse so he doesn’t completely deny you. How in the hell is he keeping it together? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man with a harder cock in my life.

“Answer me,” he prompts, then adds more gently when your brows crease in confusion, “Use your words, little one.”

“Y-yes.” Your voice comes out tentative but sure. “I promise I’ll behave.”

Who is this and what have they done with the girl who thought you were? Since when were you one to promise a man such a thing? And since when did you want to? Boba was right about one thing: he is certainly not like everyone else. If anyone else asked such a thing of you, even called you a single one of the little names he did, you would bite their head off. You never were one for bossy men in the bedroom—or life, for that matter—so why are you positively aching for it now?

“Good.” Boba rubs the back of your neck with a warm hand. “Good behavior gets rewarded,” he instructs, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. You do your best to stay still in his lap. “Tell me, princess, have you ever done something like this before? Let somebody else be in control?”

“Why, what does it matter to you?” You prickle at the thought that he would care about such a thing.

“Easy,” he repeats patiently, “I’m asking because we need to make sure we’re both comfortable and on the same page if that’s what you want.”

Oh. That’s not what you were expecting. “Oh, um, no, not really. I’ve only really had, you know… regular sex?” You bat back the anxiety of disappointing him that gnaws at your ribs.

Boba hands settle at the small of your back, his calloused fingertips brushing light shapes over your satin dress. “So what makes you want something else with me?”

“You,” you blurt out before shame can stop you, only to feel the heat rising up your neck a second later. Scrunching your nose, you wince at your answer.

Boba’s eyes sparkle with mirth, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that staves off some of your embarrassment. “Don’t be ashamed, little one, honesty is vital. What about me?”

Chewing your lip, you consider his question, fiddling with one of the shiny buttons of his dress shirt. “I don’t know… no one has ever made me feel this way. I didn’t know I could feel this way.” Boba doesn’t rush you, his fingers continuing their soothing designs. “I never thought I would want a man to tell me what to do or treat me like… like what you’re saying. But ever since I met you, you’re all I want… you make me think and want all these crazy things…” The burning desire in your belly has quelled to embers, but they still burn hot.

Peeking through your lashes at him, you turn the question around. “Do you want… what do you feel about me?” Obviously, you both want to fuck each other’s brains out—there’s no doubt in your mind about that—but Boba’s query has you wondering about his own feelings now.

Reaching up slowly, Boba brushes a scarred knuckle over your cheek to under your chin, holding you in place while he studies you. The sudden softness amongst his thunderous desire and being so plainly seen is a little unnerving, but you can’t bring yourself to look away.

“You've got more nerve and a bigger mouth than any person I’ve met. You push buttons just to see what happens and you’ve got a fire in you that can't be put out. You’re stubborn and confident and have a wit that can cut a man to pieces,” he lists out.

You gulp, dropping your gaze, unsure of what direction this is going to take. Boba swipes the pad of this thumb over the petal of your lip and you flick your eyes back up to his. They’re warm and excited, making you brighten. “You’re everything I crave, princess, and it all drives me fucking crazy.”

A warmth—a different, happy warmth—glows in your chest. You’re sure you have a big dopey smile stretched across your face but you couldn’t care less. Boba wants me just as much as I want him and he likes me. “I have that effect on people,” you giggle, nipping at his thumb below your lip playfully.

Boba arches a meaningful brow—behave—but the smile stays on his lips. “I bet that’s why you want someone to put you in your place so bad, isn’t it, little one?” He rolls his hips up into you, stealing all your focus with the promise of pleasure. “You’ve never had someone who could reign you in and give you what you really want, have you?”

You bite down around the moan bubbling up from your chest, clawing your way back to controlled composure, Boba’s efforts to the contrary be damned. Hell, how does he have such an effect on me?

“And just what exactly do I want so bad, hmm? Since you apparently have me so figured out,” you fire back, eyeing him up and down. All his talk is fanning the coals glowing in your core, making it harder and harder to stay still.

Boba leans back into the cushions, shifting his hips forward and bringing you with him by the hand splayed across the small of your back. You catch yourself with your palms pressed into the thick muscle of his chest, the heat of him sinking through the crisp material of his shirt into your waiting skin.

“What you want,” he begins, his voice low and certain and his eyes dancing with dark fire, “is someone to take charge. Someone to make the rules and punish you when you break them, and reward you when you're good. Someone you can trust to shut that smart mouth up when no one else can.”

His thumb drags down your bottom lip and you clench to keep whimpering, your mind scrabbling for the last dregs of control as simmering arousal begins to pool hot and torrid in your belly. “Someone who knows your body better than even you do, someone to explore the limits and boundaries of your pleasure. Someone to take care of you, treat you like you deserve, worship that gorgeous body and send you back out into the world with more than just a memory of who that pussy belongs to.”

Boba leans into your neck, tilting his lips up to your ear and you tremble when the warm puff of his breath hits your damp skin. “But most of all, princess,” he whispers, a glinting lilt to his syllables, “you want someone who can make you beg for it.”

You’re unable to stifle the moan that tears from your chest this time, it scrapes up your throat and hangs heavy in the heated air between you. Your nails dig into his shirt’s fabric and you pitch into him, caught in the magnetic field of his words and promises. “Please, Boba,” you gasp, desire swelling in your throat, “please can I kiss you? I want-want to kiss you… please!”

Your words shake, quivering with the last of your resolve—you want this, you want everything he said so fucking much and he knew it before even you did. Boba Fett did, in fact, know exactly what you want and it’s going to be the end of you.

“Look at my smart girl already learning some manners,” he praises, an air of teasing enveloping his statement. He feathers light kisses down your jaw and up to your lips, pressing a final kiss there before pulling back. Your lips follow his and he smirks at your neediness, clearly pleased with his effect on you.

Lava creeps through your veins, melting you into the mold you never knew you wanted so desperately to fill. You’re burning to death in your own skin and you can’t wait for the sweet release of the reaper if it means he’ll give you everything he said.

“Let me hear you say it, little one, tell me what you want and it’s yours,” he prompts softly, his fingers tracing the soft outline of your clavicle.

The last of the fight bleeds from your body, sealing your demise—the old you is now dead and buried. The new you forms itself from the minerals of your bones, the iron in the soil, and the heat of his burning sun. Your forehead falls against his and your hips bump together, making you both shiver into one another.

“I want it, Boba,” you breathe into him, “Want everything you said, want it all so fucking much. Want you to show me. Want to be all yours.” The simple act of admission unlocks the cage you weren’t aware you were trapped in—all the choppy energy roiling inside you finally finding an outlet in Boba’s strong, able hands.

His lips find yours this time, avid and keen on stealing the little air left in your heaving chest. You cross your wrists behind his neck, pressing every inch of you into every inch of him in an offering of desire. You confessed your sin and you’re ready to be blessed with his atonement.

“It’s all yours,” he promises in urgent honesty against your lips, “I’m all yours, princess.”

You kiss in a hazy bliss for who knows how long, relishing in the confirmation of shared attraction and devotion, affirmations sealed into skin with the press of a lover’s lips. When the rhythm of your hips starts to speed up once again, Boba breaks away, much to your dismay. He’s set on ruining all my fun, you gripe internally, knowing that complaining aloud wouldn’t do any good on the man underneath you. The concentration set in his brow gives you some solace, however; you can see the restraint cording the muscles in his neck.

“We need to set some rules first, princess, that’s how this works,” he explains. “Rules make sure no one gets hurt, they keep us safe, and they're what builds our trust.”

You tilt your head to the side. “But I do trust you.”

Boba smiles a warm, soft smile and chucks up your chin. “And that means more to me than you’ll ever know, little one. But, we still need to agree on a few things, negotiate what we’re comfortable with so when things get heavy we don’t accidentally cross each other’s boundaries.”

“So you don’t make all the rules, even though you’re in charge?”

He nods in confirmation. “That’s right. We’re equals in this exchange.”

“Oh.” Boba gives you time to ponder over everything he’s told you, rubbing his palms up and down your thighs slowly. “And can we add to the rules if we find out we don’t like something?” you ask after a moment.

“Of course,” he acknowledges, giving your legs a soft squeeze, “our rules grow and change with us.”

You bite down on your lip, turning over his words in your mind. It all made sense now that you think about it; Boba didn’t seem like the kind of person who would want anything else, he is sure of his power and doesn’t need to steal it from others. That’s what makes him so damn attractive, it’s what made you trust him.

“So what are your rules? I don’t really know what mine would be,” you admit. You hope your uncertainty doesn’t stop him from tearing into your panties tonight. Judging from the hard press of him between your thighs, it doesn’t seem like it will, but you’re soaked and desperate for him. All the vibrators in the world wouldn’t make up for his touch if he denies you tonight, even if it’s for the best.

Boba smiles, pleased with your openness. “First is honesty. When I ask you a question, you need to tell me the truth and vice versa. If something hurts too much, tell me. If something makes you uncomfortable, say so.” His tone is firm enough to set a boundary, but soft enough to invite clarification if needed. “I will only ever give and accept honesty when we’re like this.”

That’s nothing I can’t handle. You nod. “I can do that.”

“Good. Second is respect, for yourself and for me. Respecting yourself means listening to what your body tells you, making sure your needs are met, and asking questions when you’re unsure of something. Respecting me means using your manners and trusting me when I say enough. Even if that sweet little pussy tells you otherwise.” He taps his fingers on your back for emphasis.

You duck your head, heat rising in your cheeks at the thought of him finding out just how sweet you can be. “O-okay,” you stutter, the warring desire to give up control and snatch it back is nearly giving you whiplash. You wriggle a little around Boba’s thighs, itching for an outlet for your energy building in your core.

He soothes his hands down your ribs, their callouses catching on the satin of your dress. “You’re doing so good for me, princess, being so patient when you’re all worked up. Look at me,” he commands softly, and you peek back up at him, warm with his praise. “We’re almost done but I need to know that you’re listening.”

Sucking in a steadying breath, you shift your weight back against his legs, sitting up straighter. You want to please him, earn more of his approval any way you can.

Satisfied, Boba nods and continues, “My third rule is a little different, but I think it will help since this,” he gestures at the space between you, “is new to you. I want you to try whatever I ask of you at least once. If you don’t like it, you can tell me and we won’t do it again.”

You can’t imagine he could do anything to you wouldn’t at least like a little bit but you nod in agreement. That voice of his could get you to try anything he asked.

“Which brings me to my next point.” Boba tilts his head in curiosity. “Have you heard of a safeword before?”

“Like the thing a person says when they want to stop?” you answer tentatively, your fingers loosely looping in the bunched material of his shirt.

“Exactly,” he beams, “Knew you were my smart girl.”

His praise makes it feel like the sun itself is shining through your ribs, dazzling and quenching a thirst you didn’t know your soul had—it’s utterly addicting. Just another way he’s going to absolutely ruin me.

“When one of us says the word, everything stops immediately, no questions and no consequences. We’ll talk about what went wrong, maybe not right then if it’s too overwhelming, and we can work through it together. Does that make sense?” he asks, searching your face for understanding.

“Yes, it does.” As you stare into his brown eyes, a sudden, overwhelming wave of fondness for the man before washes over you, dragging you under the weight of the bone-deep feeling. You lurch forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and tucking your face into the dip of his shoulder.

“Hey… hey,” Boba murmurs softly into your temple, running reassuring hands over your back, “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once, babygirl. It’s alright, nothing has to happen tonight. All this can end right now. Forever, if you want it to.”

Babygirl. Of all the pretty names he’s called you, it's the softest, most endearing. A promise of his tenderness and protection.

“No, ‘s not that,” you mumble into his shirt after a moment. He’s so warm, so perfect, so strong and patient… hell, he even smells like everything you’ve always wanted, cool earth, warm wood, and balmy spices. And the sound of his voice… oh, the sound of his voice when he calls you princess and babygirl, it's the most delicious music to ever grace your ears. Is it possible to love someone after just four weeks?

“Take your time, I’m right here,” his voice rumbles from his chest into your own. You let yourself melt into him, all your muscles going loose. He traces nonsense patterns over your shoulders and spine as you ride out the staggering emotion rolling through your body. Everything about him is so new, so unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and yet he settles into your soul like a long lost piece. It’s overwhelming.

Eventually the tide of it all pulls back and is replaced by a renewed fire flickering to life in between your thighs. Now that your body has caught up with your mind, your desire is bright and sharp. Easing up from your cradled position, you place a quick kiss on Boba’s soft lips. “Thank you… I’m good now.” You brush your palms over the broad expanse of his chest as if you can sweep away what just happened, skirt the magnitude of it all to get to the pleasure. “Where were we? Safewords?”

“Not so fast, little one. Remember the first rule, honesty? I need to know what’s going on up here,” he taps a finger against head, “before we can continue.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against your shoulders. Feelings are hard and… embarrassing.

“Do I need to remind you about the second rule?” he asks more firmly this time.

You huff and bob your head back to the front. “No, ‘respect for me and you,’ I remember.” Exhaling a long breath, you force your eyes to meet his. “It’s just that… that…” His gaze is too hard to hold while you try to get your sentiments to coalesce into actual words, so you scrunch your eyes closed. “It’s just that you’re so fucking hot and perfect and patient that it’s like you walked out of a dream and I don’t want to wake up if this is a dream and I’m so wet I think I’m going to lose my mind and-”

The feeling of Boba shaking beneath you makes you stop mid-sentence and crack open an eye. You’re met with an amused grin and sparkling brown eyes. “What’s so funny?” you demand, folding your arms over your chest defiantly.

“You really are something else, princess,” he chuckles, his mirth intertwined with affection. “But I didn’t mean to interrupt, go on.”

“No, not if you’re going to laugh at me,” you pout, turning your chin up dramatically.

“Hey, come on now,” Boba coaxes, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “I can’t help what you do to me either.”

What I do to him. The idea that you do to him anything like what he does to you is an alluring one. Humming in consideration, you let yourself be led back into him like a flower turning back to the sun. “Fine. Let’s just say that I really, really like you, professor.”

Holding your face steady with his fingers on the swell on your cheek, he brushes his lips over yours. “That’s good to hear, pretty girl, because I really, really like you, too.” Boba lets you capture him for a languid kiss, his hands finding their way back to your hips to pull them flush against his own, his half-hard cock swelling as it grinds it against the lace of your panties.

This time, you’re the one who breaks the kiss. “Now hurry up and tell me what else I need to know to get you inside of me,” you demand, dragging slow circles against him with your hips. You can only be expected to be so patient, after all.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” Boba teases, raking his eyes over your rumpled appearance. “You’re lucky I don’t have it in me to make you really wait. Now, rule number four is important, are you listening?”

You still in his lap, looking up at him with rapt attention, eager to hear what else he has to tell you. You nod, then remember he likes to hear your affirmation out loud. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“Good.” Affixing you with a libertine stare, his fingers dig into your hips. “The fourth rule, little princess, is no coming without permission.”

Your legs shudder at the fresh arousal slicking your folds and Boba smirks, his eyes dark and electric, the embers of his irises sparking with things promised. His gaze falls to the futile bob of your throat before crawling back up to your face. “That’s all for my rules, anything you want to add?”

“N-not that I can think of right now… sir.” The epithet drips from your parched lips thick and sweet, dribbling down your chin like the dark juice of some exotic fruit. Paired with your hungry, sabled eyes, the sight makes Boba’s straining cock twitch against the heat of your inner thigh. Your tongue swipes over your lips and his eyes follow its movement with total attention.

“What do you want the safeword to be?” he asks after a tense couple of heartbeats, the heat of his desire curling up the edges of his words.

You think for a moment, then answer, “Kamino.”

“Looks like you really do hang on my every word.”

“Looks like you’re stalling.”

“Hmm, you look so pretty though,” he hums, “sitting in my lap all hot and bothered.”

Slitting your eyes in a siren stare, you lick your lips. “Bet I’d look even prettier underneath you naked and stuffed full of your cock.”

Boba groans, a strained huff puffing from his barrel chest. “Oh, I’m definitely going to have to teach you a lesson about patience after this one, little brat.”

“Can’t wait to attend that class, professor,” your murmur, swaying forward to steal a kiss from his soft lips.

Your joke earns you a quick chuckle from him before his face falls into something more serious. “So do all the rules sound good? Do we agree to them?”

You force yourself to actually sit back and consider all that he said instead of blindly agreeing to get to the part you want—him fucking you into whatever surface he throws you over. You’ve definitely jumped into bed with less forethought in the past, but those times weren’t this, they weren’t him. Your heart wasn’t on the line, and for once you truly care that your partner’s is too. “Yes, Boba, I agree,” you answer after a minute.

A smile like the sun shines forth from him at your acceptance. “Then these are our rules until we decide to revisit them. And it's ‘sir’ when we’re doing this. Repeat everything back for me, princess,” Boba directs. The glowing affection in his face and voice show his genuine appreciation for your cooperation as well as hint at his desire for what is to come.

The combination of his restraint and respect only heightens your intense need to have this man so deep inside you that you feel him in your very soul. “Honesty, respect, try things once, and n-no coming without permission. Kamino is our safe word. And I call you ‘sir,’” you list off obediently, doing your best to show him you took it all as seriously as him despite the arousal slicking up your thighs.

“Good job, my smart girl! Now, I’m going to make you feel so, so good, sweetheart. So good, that when I’m through with you, I'm going to be the only thing left in that pretty little head of yours.” His purred promises and the unholy tint of his dark eyes have you clenching and squirming in his lap, the burning ache between your legs almost painful.

Sliding his hands over the curve of your ass, Boba grips the back of your thighs and stands, hoisting your legs over his hip bones. You yelp, slinging your arms around his neck for balance and his chuckle buzzes in your ears and rumbles through the space in your chest. Carrying you down the hall, he nudges a door open, revealing the cozy interior of his bedroom. “You’re all mine now, princess, all mine to do whatever I like with,” he announces scornfully, “that’s what got you all riled up, isn’t it? Bet you’re so desperate you’d thank me for whatever scraps I give you.”

You know he’s baiting you, testing to see if you can keep your mouth shut and manners in place. Although it’s been barely two seconds since you rattled off the rules, you’re already sure you’re going to break the second one—probably often, if you’re being honest. But, if he wanted a docile, governable woman in his bed he certainly wouldn’t have picked you in the first place. “You gonna talk all night or are you gonna fuck me?” you challenge, biting down on his earlobe and tugging.

Boba claps an open palm against the plush of your ass and you cry out in surprise. It stings.

“Best show me some respect, pretty girl,” he hisses, “because punishment for breaking the rules is whatever I think you deserve, and I have plenty of ideas that’ll make you sorry.”

“Oh, what? Like you’re going to put me over your knee and spank me? I’m not a child,” you retort, rolling your eyes, your heart thundering in your chest. There’s no decorum to save you from his wrath now. But I’m not here for salvation.

Boba lets out a sharp, acidic laugh. “You’re right, sweetheart, you are all grown up. That means I don’t have to hold back… or stop when you beg me to.” With that, he sinks down to sit on the mattress and slings you face down across his lap like a rag doll.

Blood is pooling in your brain, your muscles burning with tense adrenaline and your hands scrambling to cling to his leg at your sudden change in position. The thought of Boba doing just exactly as he promised has you clenching around nothing, much to your horror. Using his ankle as leverage, you crane your neck back to glower at the smug man. “You wouldn’t fucking dare,” you warn, though the lurid gleam in his eye tells you he absolutely would.

Boba grins like the damn devil, his scarred hands shoving your dress up to reveal the bare skin of your cheeks in response to your threat. He lets out a low groan at the sight of your lacy crimson panties and traces a finger over the delicate material, sending a shiver rattling through you.

“Oh, my pretty little princess,” he purrs, the dim light glinting off his canines, “you want this so karking bad, don’t you? You want someone to shut you up so damn much you’ll throw yourself right into the lion’s den to get it. Don’t worry, I know just what to do with brats like you.”

It feels like every last drop of moisture evaporates from your throat while your heart howls in your ears. You’re about to be burned at the stake and all you can think about is handing him the fucking match. “Do it then,” you spit out, digging your nails into his leg.

“You remember your word?” he confirms, his voice rough with authority.

Am I really going to let his man spank me? You swallow, your cunt burning against your panties. Both of your questions end up being answered by your mouth a second later. “Y-yes, sir.”

He smooths his broad palms over the globes of your ass, warming the skin up. “Good girl,” he praises, “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Your face flashes with the dual heat of mortification and desire. The pool of arousal in your lower belly begins to scald your insides as his flames lick up your legs.

“Now, I was going to give you just five. But since you wanted to run that big mouth of yours so much, you’re going to get ten to make sure you learn your lesson,” Boba taunts, harshly palming the flesh in his hands. “And you’re going to count each one out loud for me, understand?”

Your brain is boiling with the opposing urges to try to twist out of his grasp or kowtow to his every demand. Boba runs his thumb under the waistband of your lingerie and snaps it against your skin. You squeak and shuffle in his lap, your answer spilling from your lips. “Yes, sir!” Evidently, your mouth had a mind of its own.

Or do I actually want all of this as bad as he says I do? Before you can ponder that revelation any further, however, a crack splits through the room and stinging pain erupts across your right cheek. “Shit!” you cry out, your back arching up off his thighs at the searing blow.

“What, you thought I was going to go easy on you?” Boba barks out a laugh and shoves you back down, rubbing a soothing hand over the prickling skin. “You little brats always think you can just do whatever you want and get away with it, that’s why you need someone to mark you up and remind you who’s in charge. Now remember to count or you get more.”

The number comes out as a croak. What had you gotten yourself into? Why is this making you even wetter? And why do you want him to do it again?

All those questions scatter as the next four strikes land in quick succession, sharp and precise across the expanse of your backside. Each one sends you sprawling across his lap and Boba rubs a comforting hand over your abused flesh as you squirm back into position. Your voice sounds utterly wrecked when you stammer out the number five.

Tucking an arm around your waist, Boba leans down to gently scratch his fingers against your scalp. The juxtaposition of his pain and pleasure is dizzying in the best way, like the golden buzz of sweet wine mixed with the harsh burn of honied whiskey. “You’re doing so good for me,” he hums, deep and warm, “taking your punishment so well. Knew you could do it, my strong girl.”

The satisfaction of pleasing him burns bright in your chest. More dangerously, however, it makes you want to do whatever it takes to hear it again.

He retracts his hand a few moments later and you groan at the loss of the pleasant scratching, your head following in its wake. Boba chuckles and rearranges your weight over his thighs. “You’re almost done, you can do five more, can’t you, princess?”

Screwing your eyes closed, you press your face into his calf. “Yes, sir,” you grumble into the fabric of his pants.

“Can’t hear you,” he taunts, kneading the heated flesh of your ass.

You repeat your answer louder. How is this so hot and embarrassing at the same time?

“Atta girl.”

His next smack collides with the outside of your left cheek and you can’t decide if it hurts more or less when his hand comes into contact with new skin. Number seven and eight make you make you reconsider each time, and nine sends a plea rushing from your lips.

“Aw, is it too much for you? Too much for my little princess?” he mocks, his voice flush with false sympathy. “Maybe next time you’ll actually think before you open that disrespectful mouth.” His worn hands massage the pain into your rear as he continues on, his voice dropping to almost a groan, “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do this, sweetheart, waiting to teach you some goddamn respect. That’s why you act out, isn’t it? You’re desperate for someone to put you in your place, filthy brat.”

“Please!” you moan, your head swimming with want. You hear Boba’s breath catch and a curse hiss from his lips. Shit, did I say that out loud?! The final blow lands directly over the damp fabric stretched over your slit and you cry out in a mangled moan, jagged thrills of pleasure spiking through your core. “Ten!” you wail, relief swelling in your chest. It feels like your ass is on fire, pin pricks of pain needling your abused flesh.

Boba scoops you up, his powerful arms tossing your knees around his hips and he seals his lips over your own. “Fuck,” he pants into you, his cock twitching against your thigh, “you did so good for me, taking it all like the good little girl you are.” When you break for air, his hands come up to cup your face. “How’re you feeling, everything okay?” he asks, brushing his thumbs over the tops of your cheeks, “You can talk to me regularly, princess.”

You wince as your tender skin comes into contact with his thighs, but the pain is quickly dissolving into a warm, corrupted pleasure—like rubbing away the pain of a bruise. Your eyelids drift close, your cheek coming to rest on Boba’s own, seeking the comfort of his skin on yours. You don’t know just what you feel, not exactly and not yet. There’s so many feelings and thoughts flicking through your head, of desire and emotion and revelation, that it’s all a blur like a swirling sea. Boba stands as the one island in the vastness of this churning ocean, strong and steady—a refuge to weather the storm in.

Rule one, be honest. Rule two, respect myself, listen to what my body tells me.

“Can… can you just hold me for a moment?” you whisper against him, leaning into his inviting warmth.

“Of course, babygirl, come here,” he murmurs, the domineering edge to voice gone. He eases you forward into his chest where you immediately find your favorite spot in the crook of his neck. “Is it too much?” he questions softly. “We can stop, I won’t be upset. This is about you enjoying yourself.”

“No…” you sigh into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent of him. “It’s… it’s just that I am enjoying myself. But I’ve never felt all these things and I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed or ashamed that getting spanked and talked down to makes me so fucking turned on. What does that say about me?”

An affectionate, comforting sound rumbles from his chest as he strokes the nape of your neck with light fingers. “Thank you for being honest, I know it can be hard.” He lets you snuggle up against him and continues once he feels the muscles in your shoulders relax. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying these types of things, it doesn’t mean you’re weak or any less of the confident, assertive woman you are.”

“So why do people enjoy it, then? Giving up control?” you press, hoping his experience would tell you something about your own. He always seemed to have all the answers.

“Lots of reasons. Some say they like to give all the decisions to someone else, to clear their mind and just be told what to do. It lets them let go of everything and explore parts of themselves they don’t usually get to or don’t feel comfortable doing in the ‘real world.’ For others, they like pleasing their partner and the act of ‘being good.’ Some even find it empowering, letting their partner know exactly what they need them to do in order to experience intense pleasure. It can be a mix of these reasons or none of them at all, it’s different for every person,” he explains, resting his chin on top of your head.

While you see the appeal of those reasons, you’re not totally sure if any of them are what you’re looking for. It makes you wonder what Boba seeks in all this. “What about you, why do you like being in control?”

His chest rises and falls with a couple breaths, carrying you with him, before he answers. “It… it feels good to me, almost natural. It calms my mind and lets me focus, really and truly focus. Knowing that I decide the when, where, and how of someone else’s pain and pleasure… it’s powerful. The trust that my partner has in me is another facet of it, I enjoy making my partner feel safe and looked after.”

“You make me feel safe,” you sigh contentedly. “But I never… I’m not supposed to need looking after. I can take care of myself, I always have.”

“As you should. But everyone needs someone to care for them once in a while, princess, that’s why people like to do it in the bedroom. I like taking care of my partner, spoiling and rewarding them as much as I do punishing or denying them.”

You nod hastily, earnest and eager, your teeth biting down on your lip. You need to know it’s okay to give up control of the blaze in your chest, that it would be fed and tended to carefully and with good intentions—that it wouldn’t be doused or tamped down to crushed coals. And maybe, if you were so lucky, it would even be funneled and fanned by expert hands that knew how to harness its power.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Boba croons, the gravel of his rasping voice smoothed over with adoration, “precious thing, I’m going to take such good care of you. You can let go, my pretty little princess, I’ve got you, it’s okay. I’m going to treat you like you deserve, babygirl, don’t you worry anymore. Just let go.”

And just like that, your entire universe erupts into full color, your stars aligning with his planets to unlock your deepest desires. All it took was letting go.

#boba fett x reader #NSFT #Fic recs #sw fic rec

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dinogoofy · 3 years ago

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HEELLOOO

Below is a snippet of a fic I've been working on on-and-off the past few months, but this snipp of it was just too good not to share. For reference, this fic is a friends to lovers to enemies fic focused around Shang Tsung back when he first betrays eathrealm and Raiden.

TW Tho!!! This is very bloody, sad, and gory. Angst/no comfort fam. Reader is fem.

Please read it and tell me what you think!!

His blood ran cold.

“What did you say?”

“We-” The soldier gulped, terrified out of his wits. He deserved to be, Shang Tsung thought.

“The sorceress is dead, My lord. We took care of her.” The other speaks up. He holds out your bloodstained amulet, the one he gave you years ago. The once you wore into battle even when you were fighting each other.

Shang Tsung feels his stone cold heart split in the most painful, guttural, bloody way. His face goes pale. He wants to throw up, but instead his hand forms a fist, and he starts to shake out of anger. The soldiers in front of him start to shrink away from pure, raw, fear.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to call them fools. To ask them what the FUCK they were thinking. Yell at them and slaughter them on the spot for going against his fucking rules. They weren’t supposed to kill you. They weren’t. They weren’t. They shouldn’t have killed you. They shouldn’t have TOUCHED you. How the fuck did they manage to kill you, his only equal in witts and strength. How-

Shang Tsung is overcome with anguish, but instead of falling to his knees, or sobbing, he raises a hand to the soldiers. He takes the amulet, and then rips their soul out of their bodies in the most painful way he knew how. He watches their bodies shred under the magic. He revels in their cries of pain as they slowly die.

It was his fault.

He let you die.

He had forgotten that he had removed your magic, temporarily, to keep you from defying him further. Too keep you away from meddling in his war.

And like the fool he was, he left you on a battlefield without any way to defend yourself.

Shang Tsung let the bodies become a horrific slush of meat and bones before him.

He let you die.

"You've been learning the forbidden scrolls." You had said, frozen in disbelief as it all clicked together. The secrecy, the avoidance. His new lies and arrogance. Your eyes searched his own, and he saw them wrench in agony when he realized he was caught. Shang Tsung stayed silent for a moment, moving to sit you down, but you held onto his arms, refusing.

"It wouldn't have been written if it shouldn't have been learned." He replied to you, almost deperate to make you understand, but not willing to let it show through his voice. You shook your head, tears pin pricking at your waterline. You used his arms again to steady yourself, and took a step back. He held back the urge to follow your touch as you stepped away from him.

"You're wrong. They're dangerous. They hurt people. Fuck! Shang Tsung what are you thinking? They will hurt you!" He had scowled at you then, shaking his head. He was disappointed in your rule-abiding nature. Always one to stick to the morals set for the two of you by gods who never knew desperation a day in their life.

"What does it matter? We're about to enter a killing contest. Our spells hurt people anyway. My priority is keeping myself alive." He spoke sternly. "Yours should be too. I could teach you-"

"No." His scowl grew when you interrupted him. He loved you with everything in him, but he believed you to be a fool to be so closed minded to the magic he was studying. You had so much potential, squandered by morals you were convinced to follow.

"We need to be self-sufficient from these Gods, love. Do you think they'd try to save us from the battlefield?" He said, fire burning in his chest. "We are chosen to be death fodder for the generations ahead of us, so why not try to be stronger than the gods themselves-" He cut himself off. He's said too much.

"... what?" You asked, appaled, terrified. He never wanted to see fear in your eyes. He shaked his head, and stepped closer to hold you close, pressing his forehead to your own.

"Power is everything. Power will save us. Save you, if you want it to. I will do anything to obtain that kind of power." You went silent, and he can tell you were thinking on his words intently.

"Even lose me?" You had asked after a long pause. Shang Tsung's breath caught in his through, appaled you would even think of such a thing.

"No. No love. I'd never lose you."

He had always been a liar. Even when he truly meant the words he spoke.

#mortal kombat #mk11 #shang tsung x reader #shang tsung #mk shang tsung #mk x reader #mk imagine #mortal kombat x reader

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10millionyearsdungeon · 4 years ago

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Praesidium Pt II: Talionis

A/N: Sooo...Merry Crisis one and all. Secret Santas are supposed to be fun and tailored for the recipient, yeah? Here’s hoping they enjoy given how the first thing they said to me after reading part one was, “Where’s the rest of it?” Mafia AU continuation where the endgame changes slightly. Thanks again to @dymphnasprose for the lovely banner (the raging dumpster fire that is tumblr won’t let me load the gorgeous gif banner you made for me D:<!!!)and for keeping my ass on track and on time with this shit. You know how I feel about deadlines.

TW: Non-Con, Kidnapping, implied drugging, sensory deprivation, gunplay, spitroasting, bondage, rope, fuck or die, forced cuckholding, coercion.

====================================================

The cabinet meeting adjourned per usual custom; the ministers in their bland, off the rack suits filed out of the chambers, their slow, humming chatter fading with every step taken out onto the polished marble. Shinsou straightened his tie and cast a wary eye to his phone, the vibrations buzzing through the laminated table like a hornet. Your number burned through the screen in starlight pixels-- it wasn’t like you to call him during a recess. Typically, you waited for him to call knowing just how arduous the arguments between old men could become when given a public forum.

“Yes, love?”

The familiar keening of your whimpering through his smartphone in reply sent a chill through him so cold it could only be described as hiemal. Almost frantically, your voice hitched and another breathy moan caught in your throat. Mangled pleas for release, for an end to the madness building in your core were punctuated by those same haggard cries. Shinsou froze at his desk in the auditorium, fixated on the harsh panting he knew was accompanied by the heaving of supple breasts and the telltale flush of your imminent end. He ached against his navy blue Dior suit pants, transfixed by the haunting song of tortuous pleasure you sang in his ear. Throat dry, Shinsou dropped his voice and tried again. “Kitten, I’ll be home shortly if you can keep edging for that long.”

“I’m sure you’ll find she’s about as far from home as she can get. Doubt the little princess can last much longer.”

Shinsou held his breath and the dread found a new way to boil the acid in his stomach. Through gritted teeth, he growled under his breath as your wailing continued to soundtrack a less than touching moment between surrogate father and son. He could hear the smug smirk as the formidable Boss Aizawa continued to taunt you closer to the edge.

"If you've hurt her--"

"Wouldn't dream of it. You're coming home, and not that over-indulgent highrise you've made your love nest in. Time is of the essence, Hitoshi." An unmistakable scream, your scream left him paralyzed as the line went dead. Though his mind raced, Shinsou had to will his feet to carry him through the maze of bureaucrats and journalists hindering him from his car. He knew the way to the compound without thinking. Muscle-memory had him weaving through city traffic to the outskirts of town, the memory of your scream a silent echo in his ears.

He knew Boss Aizawa was capable of anything, and that knowledge had his blood run colder the closer he drove to his family's homestead. Yamada and his perpetual grin was nowhere to be found when Shinsou pulled in, a surprise for the political upstart. An empty house for an organization as large as his was never a good sign. He ran through the maze of hallways, each door the same heavy ebony and gold lacquer, until he found the one room he never dared enter even as a young orphan running the streets. The silence of the compound left his ragged breathing suspended in a palpable dread. Hitoshi drew up his courage, caught his breath, and rapped his trembling knuckles against the door.

"Ah, the prodigal son." Boss Aizawa smirked and waved him in with an air of affability not unfamiliar to the young politician. Aizawa rested a hand along your hairline, gently running his fingers through your sweat-matted hair. Curled into his lap with heavy black cord caging your limbs in familiar lovers' knots and a bolt of black silk covering your eyes, you rested soundlessly as if unaware of the monster whose slacks you rested against. Shinsou slid into the room and closed the door behind him, the lump in his throat growing the longer his violet eyes traced the track of his surrogate father's fingers. "Couldn't stay away, could you?"

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this."

Aizawa chuckled darkly, running his wandering hand to trace the gentle slope of your back and waist. "You're right," he mused, rubbing the reddened globe of your ass. "Her involvement is inconsequential. Nothing more than a pretty, little obstacle, really." Shinsou was fixated on the tender way Boss Aizawa danced his fingertips along your skin and choked back bile and rage as the mafia head continued to calmly voice his proposal. His onyx eyes darkened and a cruel glare frosted over his rugged features. "You've grown overly comfortable with the freedoms I've so graciously allowed you to indulge in these past months, Hitoshi."

Your brow furrowed slightly under the harsh grip on your thighs prying them apart to reveal the glistening secret between them. Shinsou chewed on his tongue, watching his mentor pull your lower lips apart with calloused fingertips. As much as he wanted to rip Aizawa's hands off of you, as hard as he tried to look away he knew it was a far better alternative than seeing your gray matter and bone splattered on the drywall behind him.

"Enough. Let her go."

"If only it were so simple, Hitoshi." Aizawa curled your hair around his fingers and gave a rough pull, arching your neck painfully back as your mouth flew open in a choked cry. "What I don't think you understand is this…" His smug grin burned against your skin, his thick fingers slid inside your slick walls stretching you through your waking moments while your husband watched on, helpless to intervene. "...Everything you own is mine. Everything you've built and become is because of me-- I own you, Hitoshi." Each syllable dripping with thinly veiled irritation punctuated another curl of those blood-stained fingers up into your dripping maw. Still oversensitive from earlier abuses, you wailed as Aizawa forced you to spread yourself open onto his lap for your husband to observe in silent disgust.

"It's simple, Hitoshi: you come back into the fold, and I'll let her go." Shinsou clenched his jaw and watched the gaping maw of your pussy accommodate his mentor's thick digits. Aizawa's free hand snaked its way around your pretty throat and gave an experimental squeeze, your gasping stirring his cock to life under your squirming core. "Refuse and she breathes her last." Stone-faced as ever, Shinsou watched impassively, his rage building in his chest like a war chant pounding a warning across the distance. The tighter Aizawa squeezed the angrier Shinsou became, all too happy to ignore the faint zip and sudden strangled moan pulled from your wanton lips as a foreign cock sheathed itself inside a stranglehold all your own. "Looks like you need more convincing," the dark-haired boss grunted. He rutted into your writhing body, pulling careless cries of frantic pleasure with a casual smirk.

Shinsou stepped closer, reaching out to put a stop to the madness, only to be stopped by the clicking of a hammer cocking from a discreet sidearm. He dropped his arm to his side and looked on at the familiar quiver in your thighs signaling the beginning of your many ends.

"'Toshi, please," you whimpered, desperate to reach that peak. On closer inspection, he could see the dark outline of noise cancelling earbuds resting in the shells of your ears, no doubt playing something soothing and wordless to supplement the drugs dulling your senses. Just when he thought to silently thank his mentor for the small mercy Aizawa's thrusting intensified. The high, keening scream Shinsou took pride in coaxing was a stiletto to the heart when you sang it for another man under such duress. Your cream coated Aizawa's cock, adding another layer of traitorous lube to the act. As the boss ran his aquiline nose along the column of your neck, Shinsou traced the curve of your parted lips with his ultraviolet gaze.

"I'm waiting, Hitoshi." Aizawa held the barrel to your temple and groaned at the full-body shiver that tore through your bound frame on his throbbing length. His finger rested on the trigger, each thrust bringing the reality of potentially losing you to a stray bullet in the midst of his mentor's passion sinking to the forefront of Shinsou's mind. Frozen, the politician swallowed hard and hung his head in defeat. It was one thing to insult him by kidnapping and fucking his wife, but dangling the prospect of losing you was an injury he doubt he could fully recover from. "Be a shame to ruin something so beautiful, but if this is how you demand to be taught, who am I to argue?"

Another moan nearly sent both men over the edge, Aizawa's finger squeezing the trigger reflexively. Fear was a beast clawing through Shinsou's chest, moving through him to grab the gun and pant out in desperation.

"Alright! I'll do it. Just let her go."

Aizawa released his hold on the firearm and allowed it to slide barrel first into Shinsou's shaking hands. With both hands free to manipulate your body to his whims, Aizawa redoubled his efforts. For the first time since childhood, Shinsou saw true joy light his mentor's hardened features. He might have felt a twinge of relief if he wasn't balls deep inside his ignorant wife's dripping cunt.

"Was that so hard? I'd say let's shake on it like men, but my hands are a little full at the moment." Aizawa shifted your weight forward, mouth hungry and open, waiting to be filled as saliva tracked down the corners of your lips. Shinsou hesitated, eyes flickering between your parted lips and Aizawa's empty black eyes. "Guess sharing your whore should suffice."

As if it was all the permission needed, Shinsou dropped his designer trousers and buried himself to the hilt in your throat. He tossed the handgun aside and gripped your hair as he lost himself in the moist contractions as you gargled another aria of wanton moans. With every stroke Aizawa took to bruise into your twitching cervix Shinsou backed off to allow you the half-beat to breathe before abusing your gag reflex. Halfway through you began to realize something was amiss as you clawed against your husband's bare thighs. Shinsou yanked roughly on your hair and continued to bite back his disgust with the situation. He was supposed to be better than this; he swore he was done with Aizawa and his gang, that he was done being a thug at his mentor's beck and call. Your grip left angry trails of heartbreak along Shinsou's pale legs as your body betrayed you.

The pace was brutal-- pounded rhythmlessly from behind, you felt pressure let off as thick, hot ropes painted along your back in viscous pearl. Head thrown back, Shinsou wasn't too far behind, his grip soon wrapping around your throat. With the fight fucked out of you long before reason sunk in, strength left your limbs leaving you limp between the two thugs. Growling out his release into your belly, Shinsou's grip softened and he lovingly rubbed soothing circles on your cheek with his thumb. Lost in the dark sensation of freefall, you succumbed to unconsciousness.

Warm light and the smell of dark roast roused you from sleep. Tongue thick and body numbed from your rest, you stretched futilely back into your pillows. Shinsou sauntered in, unhurried as ever, with a steaming mug to greet you with an apologetic peck.

"What's the occasion?" Your husband darted his gaze away with uncharacteristic sheepishness. "It's not like you to not send your assistant to fetch my coffee."

"I wanted a more personal touch this morning, kitten."

You hummed gratefully into the brew, soaking in its warmth and Shinsou's company with a smile. Your body ached curiously in muscle groups you forgot you had, sparking flashes of remembrance as he began packing an overnight bag for the two of you. "'Toshi…" you began. "I had the weirdest dream last night…" Your husband froze over his collared shirts and cufflinks as you mused over the morning paper. As he packed your counterfeit passports and offshore account information carefully between dinner jackets and evening gowns, you sighed in contented ignorance. Perhaps it was better you didn't find out how significantly the cost of living had increased overnight.

Tags: @thewheezingwyvern

#bnha aizawa #bnha shinsou #bnha smut #bnha mafia #the smut pile server #reader x shinsou #shinsou x reader x aizawa #shinsou x reader x aizawa smut #tw: gun play #tw: non-con #tw: spitroast #tw: drugging #tw: kidnapping #tw: coercion #tw: fuck or die

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